Ripples
by Yukirei
Summary: Eames. Arthur. A kiss. Cocktails. A hotel pool at night.


**Ripples**  
><em>By Yukirei (a.k.a. Cosmiko Ling)<em>

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inception or any of its characters. This is a non-profit fanfiction written by a fan, for the enjoyment of other fans.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Eames x Arthur  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Eames. Arthur. A kiss. Cocktails. A hotel pool at night.

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><p>When Eames is questioned on the memorable moments of his life in mindcrime and thinks back on the past decade spent tripping in and out of people's heads, he finds that the most amazing moments weren't within the dreams -for all their logic-defying splendour- but in his recollections of the little snatches of reality that drifted in between.<p>

Like that one memory of some hotel somewhere. He doesn't quite remember the location, but that doesn't matter.

He remembers that it was night. He was sitting on a woven wood deck chair that felt far more comfortable than it had looked, cradling a glass and gazing out at the pool and the blinking lights of the cityscape behind it. He was on the hotel's rooftop. There was a bar behind him. Soft calming music played from the bar. A single bartender stood behind the counter.

The lights from the bar were dim. The only other lights were small warm dots spaced out on the floor and those illuminating the pool. The pool was an infinity pool. The water looked like it fell over the edge of the building, except he knew it really didn't because they weren't in a dream.

The water sploshed gently as it was pushed by the lone guest presently swimming in the pool. The slow rhythmic sound was soothing to Eames's ears. He greedily followed the movements of the swimmer with his eyes, an absent smile on his lips as he watched transfixed by the movements of muscles and of water washing over skin. It was far more skin than he was normally permitted to observe, the man normally wearing nothing short of a dress shirt and pants, even if occasionally with sleeves rolled up and collar undone.

Too soon, Arthur stopped, and was turning to look in his direction. Eames subtly shifted his gaze to the horizon, suddenly found his mouth too dry, quickly took a sip of drink. He turned (back) to Arthur when he heard his name called.

"Are you going to stay up there, Mr. Eames?" Arthur had asked.

"I have a good view from here," he smiled to himself, brought his drink to his lips to hide his smile, wondering if Arthur knew what he was really referring to. He almost spurted out his drink at Arthur's response, "You'll find a better view here." Arthur was smiling just a little, unwound and in one of his most relaxed states as he could only be between jobs.

If Eames hadn't known Arthur, he would have thought that Arthur was attempting to flirt right back. But Eames thought he knew Arthur, and knew he wasn't. Arthur could be charming with the ladies when he tried to be, but hardly spared such efforts on men. For a moment, Eames amused himself thinking how Arthur would react if he knew exactly how effortlessly, dangerously close he was to making Eames leap ungracefully into the pool, pin Arthur's lean-wet-slippery body against the cold tiled wall, and ravish him right there, unabashed under the night sky, bared for all the stars to see.

Eames shook his head with a chuckle, under Arthur's mildly curious gaze. Eventually, he joined Arthur. With an extra shot of vodka in hand from the bar.

They sat at the shallow end, the so-called infinity edge of the pool, looking out into the city. It was late, or early. There were still lights in the city, but for most parts, everything seemed quiet but for the occasional stray car.

Eames was warm and comfortable with his back against the pool's wall and his nth empty glass still in his hand. Arthur appeared to be the same. They were talking about things. A hundred and one things. He wasn't sure what later on, but they seemed very meaningful at the time. His head was buzzing lightly. Arthur had a flush on his rather fair face. He was talking and talking. And suddenly, Eames decided he had enough of all this talking that his brain wasn't processing and leaned closer to Arthur, pressed his lips against his open mouth.

Arthur's eyes stared wide into his.

There was a soft splash as the glass in Arthur's hand dropped, fall cushioned by the water into which it slowly sinks.

He smiled against Arthur's lips, brought his hand to secure the back of Arthur's neck, fingers pushing into his hair, closed his eyes and moved his lips, slid in his tongue, even as Arthur's now free hand moved to rest on his shoulder, as though the idea of an attempt to push him away that was abandoned even before it was acted upon.

Arthur closed his eyes, did nothing, just let Eames kiss him, run his tongue around his mouth in lazy exploration, taste the vodka on his tongue, suck and bite gently at his bottom lip.

When Eames finally pulled away, he paused for a moment as he marveled at the sight of Arthur looking this unguarded, with his eyes closed and his mouth still slightly open.

Arthur's eyes opened slowly. Eames sat back entirely, resuming his position leaning against the wall as Arthur finally closed his mouth.

Eames signaled to the bartender for another round of the same drinks.

They sat in silence as their drinks were served.

Further silence, nursing their drinks.

Then, Arthur chuckled.

And for all the conversations in the pool that Eames doesn't recall, he somehow remembers this part.

"Man, I'm drunk," Arthur had said, laughing lowly at himself.

Eames grinned when the words registered in his alcohol-dulled mind. He lifted his glass, "Cheers to that."

It would be a long time later that they would share a second kiss. But it was possibly that first time which made the drifting idea take root in Eames's mind - he wanted more.

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><p>Date written: 3 October 2010<p> 


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